


Lilies and Ink

by awizarding



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Muggle, G! To the A! To the Y! GAAAYYYYYY, Ginny Knows™, Harry is a bit presumptuous, M/M, death mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 08:32:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13713885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awizarding/pseuds/awizarding
Summary: Harry opens his own Tattoo Parlour with his friend Ginny, and suddenly has a very attractive florist as a neighbour. Inspired by a textpost on Tumblr.





	Lilies and Ink

**Author's Note:**

> All characters © J.K. Rowling & Warner Bros. I do not own anything except the story.

It was a Wednesday that Harry had first met him. The man who ran the flower shop next door to Harry’s newly opened tattoo parlour.

     He had walked in to greet his new neighbour, only to walk back out again. The florist was incredibly good looking, tall and slim, but not skinny like Harry had been for most of his younger years before he went to boarding school. The man had shoulder length, silky white-blonde hair that was tied back in a loose ponytail, making him resemble a character from a Jane Austen novel. He was also very pale, but not unhealthily so, although he had dark circles under his steel grey eyes that seemed to mirror Harry’s. How did Harry even manage to notice all this about the florist’s appearance from one glance?

     And he had _walked out_.

     The florist probably thought he was an idiot now. He contemplated going in again, but at the last possible moment, he let go of the door and walked away. This happened about three times. Harry wasn’t counting. He was too busy wishing he could slam his head into the back wall.

     “Are you allergic?”

     Harry spun around so fast he fell over. He looked up to see the florist standing over him, his arms folded over his chest. Maybe Harry had annoyed him to the point he was coming outside to slap him upside the head. Harry wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.

     “I—you—what?” said Harry dumbly, staring at the florist for a few seconds before scrambling to his feet.

     “Allow me to elaborate,” said the florist, coolly, as he straightened his blue sweater. “I was asking if you were allergic to flowers, as I couldn’t imagine what other reason you would have for walking into my store and then immediately walking straight back out again. Initially, I figured that perhaps you had been mistaken, and were not intending to come here. In which case, I would have regarded you a fool, but seeing as you repeatedly paced back and forth on the pavement outside, I am lost for all possible explanations for your erratic behaviour. In this case, you being an even larger fool that I had already anticipated you to be.”

     Harry gaped at him.

     The florist rolled his eyes. “Are you going to stare at me all day or are you going to justify your actions? If it is the latter, please do hurry up; I have customers, you know.”

     “There’s no one in your shop,” Harry said. Then immediately wanted to slap himself in the face.

     “It speaks,” said the florist drily. “How nice of you, kind sir, to have joined us today.”

     “Hey—”

     “All right, yes, I see that may have been offensive. However, I am a busy man, and I have business to attend to. Seeing as you are unable to supply the answers that I seek, I am going to return to setting up for the day.” And the florist swiftly returned inside.

     Harry blinked before rushing in after him.

     “Wait!” he called out, nearly knocking over a pot on the nearest shelf with his elbow.

     “Christ, would you be careful? I actually do sell these pots, and I cannot do that if you proceed to be clumsy and break them all,” snapped the florist.

     “You’re a florist,” said Harry.

     “Excellent observation—I’m sorry, are you unable to read the large sign outside?”

     Harry blushed. “No, I mean—you’re a florist.”

     “I believe we have already established this.”

     “No—ugh! I’m your neighbour. The tattoo parlour.”

     The florist studied him carefully, raking his eyes over Harry.

     And then: “That seems to make sense.”

     “What does that mean?” asked Harry defensively. He understood there were many misconceptions about tattoo artists or rather tattoos in general, but he was proud of his work.

     “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

     “Hell no, it’s not ‘nothing’! What? You think I’m stupid or something, is that it? I went to university, you know. I’m not some uneducated high school dropout.” That was true; he had studied art and design and had been practising with tattoos for a long time now.

     “I never implied that you were,” said the florist, cocking an eyebrow in an arrogantly thoughtful gaze.

     “You didn’t need to! You were giving me this look, you know, that _look_ everyone gives you when they think you’re a poor, dodgy guy without any shred of decency or pride, that look everyone gives me when they’re busy judging me when they don’t even know me!” Harry shouted, breathing heavily as he made to leave.

     “Goodbye,” he said, as he stomped out angrily. He had a bad temper; that much was true, but he was never a violent person. He was just easily riled up, that was all. That florist was a giant git, a very attractive, handsome git that Harry both wanted to punch and maybe make out with. Dammit, he had only met the man five minutes ago!

     The bell sounded as someone opened the door.

     “Fuck off,” grumbled Harry, not bothering to look up.

     “Excuse me, but that’s hardly a way to greet a customer,” said the person.

     Harry whipped his head up so fast it hurt his neck. “Ginny—shit, I’m sorry.”

     Ginny waved him off. “Its fine, but other people might not think it is. It’s my duty as your business partner to keep you in check. Now, who were you intending to say that to?”

     “No one, I was just pissed off,” Harry sighed.

     “‘No one’ my arse,” said Ginny. “Now I know it obviously wasn’t me because A: I haven’t done anything to piss you off that much since I broke it off to snog Luna, and B: you apologised to me straight afterward.”

     “You’re right about that. It’s just—the guy next door.”

     “The grocery store guy?”

     “No, the florist.”

     “There’s a _florist_ next door? To our tattoo parlour?” snorted Ginny.

     “Gin.”

     “Right. One second.” Ginny ran outside before Harry could stop her. He groaned, slumping forward onto the desk.

     Then Ginny was back, grinning widely. “You didn’t tell me he was _cute_!”

     “That’s because he’s not,” said Harry.

     “Yeah, right. You’re telling me you don’t find him hot at all?” Ginny asked him.

     “No, I don’t!”

     “Please. You’re lying. Your nose is twitching again. He was totally giving me gay vibes, though, so don’t worry.”

     “You haven’t even spoken to him, how could you possibly know that?”

     “It’s my special skill. Ever since I realised I was bi, I grew to learn the signs. Like how you were bi, too.”

     “Shut up, Gin.”

     “No way, you haven’t told me why you’re so mad at him,” said Ginny.

     “He was giving me the look,” Harry told her.

     Ginny frowned. “Really? You sure?”

     “What does that mean?”

     “Well, it’s just… you can sometimes overreact a little bit,” Ginny replied gently. “Look, I’m not taking sides, I just want to be sure, all right?”

     “I’m sure he was, he was being so pretentious, saying I was an even _larger of a fool than he had originally thought_.”

     Ginny snickered. “He said that?”

     “It was practically a speech.”

     “Oh my God,” Ginny grinned, laughing. “Wait, did you go in there to say hello?”

     “Well, yes, I did,” said Harry, before adding: “and then I ran out like an idiot.”

     “What?”

     “I went in, saw him, and ran out.”

     “Why?”

     “Because he was actually the bogeyman,” said Harry sarcastically. “I don’t _know_ , Ginny.”

     Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop it. So you went in, thought, _fuck, he’s hot_ , and panicked and left?”

     “I did not!” He did.

     “Your denial is pointless, Harry. So then what? Oh no, you went back in, didn’t you?”

     “I went back and forth about five times.”

     “Oh Harry, you poor soul.”

     Harry buried his face in his hands. “I humiliated myself. He came out and was asking me if I was _allergic to the flowers_ , Gin. He thought at first I was lost, then he thought I was just a _gigantic fool_ who couldn’t seem to make up his mind. I followed him, after staring at him like an unintelligent fish! I was all like, ‘you’re a florist’. A _florist_ , Gin! I was so stupid! If there’s a God out there, I want him to smite me.”

     Ginny grimaced sympathetically. “That’s rough. So you do think he’s hot, right?”

     “ _Gin_ ,” whined Harry, desperate to evade her interrogation. “We need to start setting up in the back.”

     “Fine. But this conversation is not over.”

     Harry went to the back room on the right and started packing out some supplies to try and make it look less new and more professional. He adjusted the chair, and polished the mirrors, performing every dull chore he could possibly think of to pass the time. Once he was satisfied with the result, Harry went to the front to join Ginny at the front desk. Ginny had been writing, and now the pen she had been using was currently residing in her mouth.

     “That better not be my pen,” said Harry. “And don’t let people see you doing that to the pen they’re meant to be writing with.”

     “They come here for the tattoos,” countered Ginny, “not the excellent pens.”

     Harry sighed in exasperation as he shrugged it off. Ginny would be Ginny, no matter the circumstances, and she refused to let anyone control her. That was what he loved about her—her fierce individuality and her bold courage to stand up for what she believed in. Yes, Harry did love her, but it wasn’t at all romantic. They had both thought they were right for each other, that they were in love, but they had just been kids. Teenagers who had no idea what love even meant. Harry loved Ginny as though she were his own sister, and was an honorary member of her family, however large it already was.

     Harry was glad to have Ginny with him. He was nervous, and understandably so, seeing as it was the first day. He wasn’t expecting to be receiving many customers initially, as they would have to build a reputation, but he had high hopes for the parlour.

     _The Thestral_ was something Harry had always wanted. His own business, and a place to express himself artistically. When he had discovered tattoos in his early freshman year at college, he had known instantly that that was what he wanted to do. Ginny had been on board right from the start, and now they had finally made it. Harry was proud; of himself and his work, and nothing that the condescending florist next door would ever say could do anything to change that.

 

 

They had a few people come in at random intervals to see the new parlour, but mostly they were just curious and weren’t interested in getting a tattoo.

     On Friday, Ron and Hermione came to check in during their spare time. Ron was now a police officer, while Hermione was still making her way through the ranks of the government. She worked for wildlife rights at the moment, but one day she wanted to aim at being the prime minister of England. She could do it, too, as Hermione was just about the smartest person Harry had ever met, and had good views and a wise outlook on how to operate people. Or countries.

     They had been willing to get tattoos, but due to their jobs and positions, it wouldn’t have been proper. Harry on the other hand, already had one—a tattoo of a pair of deer resting on his chest, over his heart. It was a stag and a doe, the two turned towards one another as they nuzzled their noses together. He had gotten them in honour of his mother and father, who had died when Harry was only a baby. His mother, Lily, and his father James, who were the two bravest people he would never know. He missed them dearly, but as he grew older he learned to bear the sorrow that their deaths had left him.

     It was only the next week that Harry and Ginny had their first customer. Then after that, things slowly started to pick up, until a few months later when they were easily one of the most popular tattoo parlours in the city. They weren’t overwhelmed with work, but they were now busy most of the day and lengthened the operating hours. Harry luckily lived upstairs in a small apartment, while Ginny lived with her girlfriend Luna nearby.

     On Halloween, Harry closed up his booth to take the day off. It was one of Harry’s few off days, as it was the day his parents had died twenty-two years before. He visited their grave every year and brought a fresh bouquet of flowers each time.

     So it was unavoidable, really. Inevitable, that he would go back to the florist next door. They hadn’t spoken since Harry had yelled at him, which the latter did feel slightly guilty about. Slightly.

     But he watched. He noticed things about the neighbouring florist every day, if only through passing. Harry sometimes wondered if the florist was seeing him, too. Not looking, but _seeing_ , and watching, as Harry did.

     Not that Harry was a stalker, no, simply an interested party. He was a very attractive florist, Ginny was right, and maybe Harry was a little bit too interested for someone who didn’t like his neighbour. So maybe he liked the florist next door a little.

     But only a little.

     So, Harry returned to the flower store next door. This time with less pacing, but just as much deliberation. He pushed open the door perhaps a bit too forcefully for someone who was meant to be calm, and his cheeks reddened slightly for pulling attention towards himself. Harry strode over as casually as he could manage to the flowers and spent a fair few minutes staring at them, wondering which ones he would buy. He knew what kind of flowers he wanted, but he needed the _right_ ones.

     “I daresay staring at the flowers is not going to make them jump out at you,” said the florist behind Harry.

     Harry stood up straighter. “Bugger off,” he grumbled.

     The florist ignored him. “Are you looking for something in particular?”

     “It’s none of your business,” said Harry.

     “Don’t be rude,” the florist replied. “I am merely offering my help as you seem to be having difficulties.”

     “The only difficulty is _you_ ,” snapped Harry.

     The florist crossed his arms and glowered at Harry.

     “Now, that’s hardly fair; you were the one who was very rude at our last meeting and proceeded to shout at me about your own delusions.”

     “Delusions? You were the rude one! You called me an idiot and kept being all condescending!”

     “You were behaving strangely. And I was hardly being at all condescending; you were merely being paranoid.”

     “I am _not_ paranoid.”

     “I never said you were, I said that your reaction was paranoid in nature.”

     “Ugh!” said Harry. “Stop talking to me like I’m a child!”

     “Well, I wouldn’t if you weren’t acting like one,” countered the florist.

     “Would you _stop_?”

     “I am hardly the one who is to blame,” defended the florist. “I was actively attempting to mollify this petty dispute, and you have completely shattered my efforts. I am trying to be the bigger man, but you seem to have some kind of vendetta against me. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you spying on me all day. I’m hardly stupid.”

     Harry’s stomach dropped, and he sighed in defeat.

     “Fine. I’m sorry, alright? I just get a bit defensive sometimes.”

     “That much was obvious.”

     “Hey—what happened to being the bigger man?”

     “I can make exceptions,” said the florist with a smirk. Harry’s heart did a summersault.

     “R—right,” said Harry. “Um, I’m Harry. Harry Potter. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

     The florist smiled, clearly amused. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Potter. Draco Malfoy, at your disposal.”

     Harry rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. “It’s just Harry, please.”

     “Very well, Harry,” said Draco, leaning forward closer to Harry. “How may I help you today? What brings you to my humble flower shop?”

     “Er, well—”

     “If it is a girlfriend, I feel I must warn you about the _Dionaea muscipula_. They’re terribly unromantic.”

     “Dion—what now?”

     “The Venus fly traps,” explained Draco.

     “Oh. Yeah, that would be… um, yes. Well, it’s, er, not for a girlfriend. It’s for my mum.” Harry said awkwardly.

     “And my dad,” he added afterward. Draco raised an eyebrow, but thankfully didn’t ask any questions.

     “Is there something particular you had in mind, or…?”

     “Er, yeah, I wanted some lilies. My mum’s name, actually,” said Harry.

     “Lily is a rather lovely name. Is she as kind a spirit as her namesake?”

     “Yeah, she is,” smiled Harry. “The kindest person I’ve ever known.”

 

 

The cemetery was actually… nice. Harry could remember Draco’s smiling face as he asked about Harry’s mother. Yes, Harry had sort of lied about his mother’s being dead, but he didn’t like everyone to know. It was just pitiful looks and _poor darling_ s.

     Harry wondered why he had shouted at Draco in the first place. Maybe it was because the florist had been infuriatingly polite. Or maybe…

     No. No way.

     Absolutely not.

     Harry sighed as he lay down next to his parents’ tombstone. They shared one that rested at the foot of a small statue, one which was carved with a man and woman holding each other and a baby in the woman’s arms. It was clear it was Harry. He had cried the first time he had seen the statue when he was seventeen.

     “Hello, mum. Dad. I’ve been doing well, my business is going great. Dad, you’d love it, Ginny works with me sometimes. I forget we’re at work when I’m with her. Ron and Hermione are good. Ron’s thinking of proposing; he just got promoted. Luna is still… pretty interesting. I can see why Ginny loves her so much. I haven’t seen anyone since I spoke to you last. My neighbour is nice, although I shouted at him the first time I met him. It was a disaster,” Harry laughed, wiping his eyes as he sniffed. “He asked me… he asked me if you were kind, Mum. Like the flower, you were named after, Lily. He’s a florist, I got these from him. I told him you were. I miss you. Both of you. I hope you’re happy with Sirius and Remus. Tell them I miss them too.”

     He set the lilies and roses at the feet of his ceramic parents.

     “Goodbye, Mum, goodbye, Dad. I love you.”

 

 

“Harry, hey—how was it?” Ginny asked him when he got back later.

     “It was okay. I didn’t cry as much this time,” Harry said.

     “That’s good. You know, Luna and I were wondering if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight. You know, so you don’t have to be alone.” Ginny took his hand with a small smile.

     Harry smiled back. “Thanks, Gin, but I think I’ll just stay here. I have some bills to sort out, anyway.”

     Ginny nodded, letting go of his hand as she reached for her coat. “Good night, Harry,” she called as she left through the front door.

     Harry sighed. He seemed to be sighing a lot these days. He hadn’t been lying about the bills, so he headed upstairs to gather them and sit in the abandoned tattoo parlour. He managed to make his way through them in about two hours, before leaving them on his desk and pulling out his sketch pad and his MP3 player. Listening to some Aerosmith, he began to draw a dragon. It was fairly small, white and it had grey eyes, curling around itself as it angrily blew a puff of smoke out of its nostrils. It was a while before he was interrupted.

     Harry heard the door bang shut and promptly fell off of his chair. He picked himself up, untangling his headphones as he faced a very distressed Draco Malfoy. His eyes were red and he was dressed in a very expensive looking suit—a black tuxedo with intricate details on the cuffs and edges. He had a pale blue dress shirt that seemed to suit him perfectly. Harry couldn’t help but think Draco looked quite excellent in a suit.

     “Draco? What are you doing here at—” he glanced over at the clock on the wall, “—eleven-thirty? We closed at eight. Or rather, Ginny did.”

     “I want the biggest, most obnoxiously cheap-looking tattoo you have,” demanded Draco. “Right now. I’ll pay you double or whatever, however much you want. Hell, I’d pay you the entirety of my bank account right now if I didn’t have to live.”

     “Draco…”

     “I mean it, name your price, you don’t even need to do a design, the crappier the better, I really don’t care—”

     “Draco.”

     “My father would lose his mind, maybe he’ll have a _stroke_ , and it’ll be _wonderful_ —”

     “Draco!”

     Draco abruptly paused his rambling. Sniffling, he turned away to presumably wipe his face clear of tears.

     “I don’t know what happened to you, but trust me: you do not want to get a tattoo when you’re not in a clear mind,” said Harry. “Why are you upset?”

     “He wanted me to be a lawyer, just like him,” said Draco, looking past Harry. “He doesn’t approve of my career at all. And he’s right, you know, a Malfoy as a florist? What in hell’s name was I thinking? It’s entirely unbecoming, I’ve disgraced the whole family, I bet, why did I do this? I was meant to go to Oxford, like Father, I had _potential_ —” Draco’s voice broke off into a sob, and he sat down on the floor against the wall.

     “I was meant to be brilliant,” said Draco miserably, finally looking at Harry. “The next top man. But no—no, I had to become a bloody _florist_! The sheer idiocy, I can’t believe why I ever thought it would have been a good idea!”

     “Hey, Draco, listen to me,” Harry walked over and bent down to speak to Draco directly. “Don’t say that. I don’t know much about you or your father, but I’d have to say that I’d rather you weren’t spending your life in an office doing paperwork all day. I think you’re an excellent florist—the best I know.”

     Draco snorted. “I’m probably the _only_ florist you know.”

     “That may be true,” said Harry, “but that doesn’t mean that my statement was wrong.”

     Draco sighed. “I’m sorry about this. I was just so angry at my father—”

     “Don’t worry about it,” Harry interjected. “It’s okay. I was having kind of a rough day too, anyway.”

     “You were?”

     “Yeah. When I uh, bought those flowers for my mum and dad earlier, I wasn’t entirely honest with you.”

     Draco looked at him.

     “My parents died today when I was one,” said Harry. “They were murdered. It’s still unsolved. I had to grow up with my aunt and uncle and my cousin who all hated me. I’m kind of the opposite; I didn’t have any potential. So I made some. I got really good friends and I worked hard and I just did what I wanted to, because life is short, you know, and I didn’t want to just waste away. I wanted to live. There’s nothing wrong with doing what you love if it makes you happy.”

     Draco stared at Harry for a while, and Harry shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Finally, Draco finally spoke, except it was low, and Harry had to ask him to repeat himself.

     “Christ, listen to me, complaining about my spoiled, rich life, while you’re here and—God, I’m such a fool!” Draco rubbed his hand over his face.

     “I’m pretty sure you said _I_ was the fool,” said Harry.

     “No, no you’re not,” said Draco quietly.

     Harry blinked, turning slightly pink as he held out a hand to the man sitting on the floor. “I’ll give you a tattoo,” he said. “But something good. I don’t want you to sue me for permanently damaging your perfect skin.”

     “Hardly,” said Draco, before accepting Harry’s hand and getting to his feet with a grin. “ _Perfect skin_ , hmm?”

     Harry’s cheeks must have been a deep scarlet now. “That—that’s not what I meant!”

     Draco hummed as he walked past the desk to the tattoo room. Noticing the open sketch pad, he picked it up and gazed thoughtfully at it.

     “You drew this?” he turned to Harry.

     “Er—yeah.”

     “It’s quite impressive.”

     “Thanks.”

     “I want it.”

     “What?” said Harry.

     “I want it,” repeated Draco.

     “Uh, are you sure? I have plenty of much better—”

     “I’m very sure,” Draco assured him.

     “Oh. Right. Okay. Let me just um, set up,” said Harry, pulling out his equipment. “Are you sure you like the design? I’m not so sure about the tail…”

     “Harry. I don’t care about the bloody design. As nice as it is, of course, but no, I’m more concerned about the memory.” Draco stepped forward.

     Harry swallowed hard. “What memory?”

     Draco moved even closer, following as Harry backed up until his back hit the blank wall. He was so close now that Harry could feel his breath on his face, could see the lines of Draco’s face, the creases to his lips. Draco’s eyes darted from Harry’s face to his mouth, then back to his face, where it settled. Those steel grey eyes bore into his own green ones, as he began to close the final inch between them.

     “This one,” Draco whispered, as he leaned in and their lips met. At first, Harry couldn’t move, couldn’t _breathe_ , his mind was reeling a thousand miles a minute. Then he accustomed to the warmth of Draco’s lips and started to kiss back. He wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and back, and kissed deeper until his mouth opened and Draco’s tongue met his. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped him, didn’t feel remotely ashamed, as this felt far too good to be embarrassed about anything. This moment, this memory, as they parted and Harry looked into Draco’s eyes, was too precious to be ruined by something as futile as anxieties.

     It was a Friday that Harry had first kissed him. The man he would later call his husband.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this.  
> Until we meet again,  
> — Abby


End file.
